


You Light Up My Darkest Skies

by secondstar



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Glasses, M/M, Rambling Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 20:41:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondstar/pseuds/secondstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek comes to visit Stiles after a battle to check on him, Stiles is surprised the second the alpha cups his face... so Stiles does what he does best: he rambles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Light Up My Darkest Skies

**Author's Note:**

> beta'd by lsdme  
> written for artionn @ tumblr who wanted more glasses!stiles with pj bottoms. :)  
> (which just makes me want glasses!stiles to be my head canon. because let's face it: it is my head canon. I love him in glasses!)
> 
> [this fic now has fanart!](http://artionn.tumblr.com/post/31379740902/made-for-the-wonderful-slipintothewaters-fic-you) by artionn @ tumblr

Stiles’ body ached all over, sore from the constant running, from being slammed against walls repeatedly. He yearned for his bed, to be able to sleep without having to worry about his best friend, to not stay up half the night researching about crazy shit that no one would believe in a thousand years unless they saw it for themselves. The things he saw, lived through, were not something he wanted to dwell on when he was alone. He showered, letting the spray massage his tender muscles as flashes of violence played in his mind. He rid himself of his contacts, looking at himself in the mirror after putting his glasses on. 

Who he saw looking back at him was not the Stiles he knew. This Stiles had bags under his eyes, felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was only human, after all. What could he do, in actuality, when Derek was there as the Alpha, when his best friend was a werewolf. What could he do, really? Not much of anything. And yet, he tried his damnedest to keep up with them, to keep up with the pack. His body was fighting against him, covered in bruises, aching and begging for him to slow down. He wasn’t a werewolf, as his mind reminded him over and over again. 

He had refused the bite, and yet.... 

And yet he hadn’t stopped fighting. Stiles sighed, looking away from the mirror as he put his dirty towel and clothes into the laundry hamper. His pajama bottoms hung low on his waist as he walked into his room, foregoing a t-shirt for the time being as he sat at his computer to start the mountain of homework he had been avoiding. He cracked his knuckles, stretching as his computer booted up. Swinging around in his swivel chair, he jumped, his hand over his heart when he saw Derek standing by his closet. 

“Dude, what the fuck?” Stiles said, his voice a little too loud and a little too high pitched. Derek raised an eyebrow at him. Stiles’ hands went up to his glasses, adjusting them. His hands slid down his face, pulling at his bottom lip as his eyes narrowed. “No, seriously, what are you doing in my room?” Derek’s silence was deafening. “Use your words, man, because I have an English essay to write on _A Brave New World_ and shit if I am sleeping at all tonight, or tomorrow night-”

“I wanted to make sure you were alright,” Derek whispered and fuck if Stiles hadn’t noticed how tired Derek looked, how beaten. Stiles’ shoulders sagged as he stood, shrugging his shoulders as his teeth raked across his bottom lip. 

“Yeah, dude, I’m fine, look at me.” Stiles watched Derek’s eyes rake up and down his body slowly. Stiles realized that he was shirtless, and in his pajama bottoms. He could feel himself blushing, so he cleared his throat. “I mean, ignore the bruises,” he said, nodding his head as he waved his hand dismissively, “and don’t look at the cut on my lip because really, that was my fault, and then there is the-” 

“Stiles,” Derek growled, “for once, would you just shut up?” Stiles stood there with his jaw open for a second, then decided to scoff. 

“When have you ever known me to shut up? I mean you could threaten my life and I would still talk your ear off all night long until you-” Derek took a step forward, Stiles took a step backwards. “What, what are you doing?” Stiles asked as Derek cupped his face, moving his head back and forth as his eyes trailed over Stiles’ body. 

“Checking you for injuries,” Derek said, making Stiles shudder as his eyes closed. 

“Oh, uh, well. Like I said, bruising and a cut lip-” a low growl erupted from Derek, to which Stiles answered with one of his own. Derek lifted an eyebrow at him. “What? You’re not the only one who knows how to growl. I’ve been practicing... so there.” Derek’s hands were still cupping Stiles’ face and he wasn’t really sure what to make of that fact, so he decided to lick his lips. Because that wouldn’t get Derek’s attention or anything. Now Derek was staring at his lips, with his own mouth parted slightly. Stiles thought about growling again, but thought better of it. The last thing he wanted was for Derek to fling him across his room, his muscles hurt too much already. “As much as standing here in silence staring at each other turns me on, I was serious about that essay,” Stiles murmured, gulping. Derek’s lips twitched. 

“Turns you on?” 

“Did.. did I say that? That isn’t what I meant,” Stiles sputtered, his hands coming up to Derek’s arms. “So you’re here, in my room, checking up on me, which is good. That’s good. You’re good-” 

“Stiles, you’re rambling,” Derek said, his hands dropping from Stiles’ face. Stiles took a deep breath, laughing. “And your heart beat is fluttering like mad.” Stiles nodded. Stiles walked over to his dresser, getting out a shirt. Because a shirt would help, right? He started pulling it over his head, but his glasses got caught on the collar. He fumbled for a second until he righted himself. When he turned back towards Derek, Derek was staring at Stiles’ shirt as if he was affronted. “Why did you do that?” Derek asked, pouting. Derek... was pouting. Stiles guffawed. 

“Because not all of us are fucking ripped like you are. I was feeling a bit self conscious.” Derek was still pouting. Stiles wanted to take a picture, for archival purposes. And to show Scott. Derek was a brooder, but he had never seen Derek pout before. “And you left my window open, again. And there is a draft. Jesus, not all of us run hot like you do.” Stiles shrugged off his feelings, pushing them aside. They are at war with supernatural beings... and he had homework. Lots of homework. Now wasn’t the time to be getting into a sordid relationship with his best friend’s alpha. With his alpha. An alpha who came to see if he was alright. Stiles sat back down at his computer and rubbed his eyes with his index fingers, his glasses in the way. 

“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” Derek said, sitting on Stiles’ bed. Stiles knew he sat because he heard his mattress, heard Derek sigh. 

“Yeah, well, I do. My eyesight is shit.” Stiles began typing his thesis statement, which was completely bullshit and made up, but he was amazing at bullshitting his way through essays. 

“Stiles-”

“What?” Stiles asked, his chair swiveling around so he could see Derek. Derek had his jacket off and he was sitting with his legs crossed on Stiles’ bed. Stiles tilted his head, his teeth gnawing at his bottom lip. “You look like you are about to pass out.” 

“I might,” Derek said, looking back at Stiles’ pillow as if asking permission. 

“Yeah, sure, go ahead. Get your alpha smell all over my shit, not a problem.” Stiles said, turning his chair back around. He really needed to do this essay. After a while, he heard Derek’s breathing become heavier, louder. It wasn’t quite snoring, because Stiles’ dad snored. This was just Derek relaxed, in a deep sleep. Stiles looked at the time, three in the morning. He had been writing for hours. He cracked his neck, groaning as he spat out his conclusion by reiterating his thesis statement, then closed his computer. He grabbed his phone, setting his alarm for seven, turned off the light, then crawled into bed. 

Derek stirred, grunting as Stiles pushed at his torso, turning him onto his side. 

“You seriously need to give me half of this bed,” Stiles hissed, grabbing his pillow and punching it twice to fluff it up. Derek glared at him, watching Stiles pull at the sheets, trying to get comfortable. “It’s my bed, Derek.” 

“Turn the other way,” Derek whispered, his voice gruff. Stiles made a face, but did so so that he was faced away from Derek. He slid his arm under the pillow, situating his head so that it was comfortable. He gasped when he felt Derek’s hand wrap around his waist, pulling him close. “Do you have enough room now?” Derek asked, his breath tickling the back of Stiles’ neck. Stiles nodded. Derek’s hand hung limply over his stomach, his nose nuzzled against Stiles’ neck as his breathing evened out again as if he immediately fell back asleep. Stiles lay there, his mouth dry and eyes wide, his brain unable to shut off. He took off his glasses, setting them up on his headboard/nightstand, along with his phone. He fell asleep to the feel of Derek’s chest rising and falling, to the sound of him breathing. He fell asleep feeling safe, despite all of the shit they had been through. It was the first decent’s night sleep he had gotten since werewolves came into his life. Stiles wished every night could end like this one.


End file.
